Tidal
by APrettyPossum
Summary: It is snowing in the courtyard of Caemlyn's Royal Palace the first time they are truly alone. WoT femslash. [Talaan/Merilille]


**Notes:** This is the first of what may eventually become a Talaan/Merilille series. I took some liberties with shield breaking, channeling, and the Windfinder's treatment of their Aes Sedai teachers. As always, femslash ahoy! My faceclaims for Merilille and Talaan are Marion Cotillard and Keke Palmer, respectively.

Read, review, and enjoy!

* * *

**Tidal**

Talaan din Gelyn is nineteen years old, and feels like she has never lived a day in her life. The moment she goes shorebound with her mother and aunt _(what a mistake combining those two)_ to Ebou Dar, the slim girl knows her fate is sealed beneath the oppressive thumbs of her hot-tempered relatives.

_(Too powerful for her own good, and certainly too useful to be left untapped.)_

When she first lays eyes on Merilille, Talaan is a frightened little puppet, no better than an _angreal_ in ambitious hands. She feels naked beneath the Aes Sedai's scrutiny _(poise, wisdom, beauty; all things she'll never possess)_, embarrassed by her inexperience and youth.

* * *

Before Ebou Dar and the twisted series of events leading to the fiasco with the Bowl of the Winds, Merilille Ceandevin believes in earnest that she will one day become the Head Clerk of the Gray Ajah.

Who better than the well-traveled, well-spoken Cairheinin to lead her politically-minded Sisters? She has subdued queens _(barring that impossible spitfire, Tylin)_ and toppled haughty princes for their arrogance, resolving hatreds that spanned generations. Merilille is strong enough in the One Power to receive deference from her fellows, and old enough to have developed a worthy reputation regarding her work in the Tower.

_(A perfect candidate: the ultimate ender of conflicts.)_

Yet when she first senses Talaan din Gelyn, a hunching child perched awkwardly atop her horse, she feels like a flickering candle eclipsed by the brilliance of the noonday sun.

* * *

Pressed against the ornate wallpaper of the spacious room _(why is everything covered in flowers here?) _Talaan's focus darts between Renaile din Calon Blue Star's impassive visage and the frightened, upside-down eyes of Merilille Ceandevin. She does not spare a glance for Metarra, who furrows her brow in concentration, spinning weaves of Air around her inverted target. The Aes Sedai pants against the shield she cannot hope to overcome, black hair obscuring half of her gorgeous face.

_(She frowns away the voice that questions her observation.)_

Merilille's delicate lips quiver as she writhes, composure long gone. They've been working her since dawn without respite, binding and prodding and glaring.

Kurin snickers from the back row of the Windfinders off to Talaan's left. She clenches her fists and tells herself not to snarl _(she's been whipped so many times for her sympathy that she's beginning to wonder if it really is a weakness) _or snap at her discourteous seniors. Her heart aches for the whimpering woman.

"Enough," Renaile commands.

Metarra flips Merilille and releases her with such force that the Aes Sedai staggers violently, head still spinning. Her face pales _(green undertones shade her sallow cheeks)_ as if she is about to vomit. Knees buckle as she falls to the carpet, skirts wrinkling unceremoniously beneath her.

"Shield Talaan."

_(There is no reprieve.)_

Talaan exhales like a rowdy deckhand punched her in the gut.

Merilille rises, trembling. It is clear that she struggles to embrace the Source but she cannot refuse Renaile, cannot let herself collapse completely. Silver sleeves slip up her forearms as she finally begins her weave, graceful after a century of practice. She twists like a dancer or a wave, and Talaan is so distracted by her movement that she stands dumbfounded, separated from the One Power like she's been stilled. She doesn't care.

"Talaan," Renaile snaps. "Break the shield."

_(Bile wells up.) _

Stepping jerkily forward, the apprentice Windfinder moves so that her back is to the others and she faces Merilille exclusively. _(The petite channeler is crumbling more with every passing breath.)_

Talaan mouthes "I'm sorry" _(but it's too little, too late- meaningless condolences)_ to her poor instructor. Broken shields carry all the trauma of a concussion- a sharp bash to the brain followed by lingering vertigo. It is a cruel way to teach this lesson, especially to one so much weaker in _saidar_. Even Nynaeve al'Meara _(who disappeared days earlier without keeping her promise about the Tower)_ would reel from Talaan's blow.

_(Eyes widen. Merilille's shaking lips form the beginning of a plea, setting aside pride and social boundaries to beg for mercy. "Please don't hurt me again," her body language screams.)_

With a forceful lance of _saidar_, Talaan shatters the shield. To her horror, the weave dissipates like ash from a campfire as Merilille's eyes roll to the back of her head. She rushes forward _(what have I done?)_, releases the Source, and catches the crumpling woman before she hits the ground. Her body is small and light _(and she smells like hyacinth and red currant and mistakes waiting to happen)_ and Talaan's muscular arms wrap easily around her waist and back.

Renaile purses her lips and the other Windfinders wait expectantly for her cue. This has never happened before.

"Take her to her room," she orders with a dismissive flick of her wrist. She has no time to waste on an unconscious weakling when other Aes Sedai can be found for training.

Metarra wordlessly lifts Merilille's feet _(don't touch her, I've got her, let go- a rapport of disjointed thoughts rattle through Talaan's mind) _and the Windfinders' apprentices carry the stunned woman up to her room manually. Renaile limits their use of the One Power to supervised training sessions.

_Warm. She's warm against my chest._

They lay Merilille atop her neatly made bed after struggling with the doorknob in silence, and her blue eyes briefly flutter open, head resting on the pillows. She watches apathetically as Talaan gently removes her guiding hands, four golden earrings clicking softly against one another, before her eyelids close again. _(How badly she wants to kiss her pale forehead and apologize until she weeps.)_ Merilille is tiny beneath the layers of her thick silver robes.

_You did this, Talaan din Gelyn,_ her mind hisses.

The Gray says nothing, and the apprentices leave quietly.

Slouching down the corridor to Renaile, Talaan thinks she has never hated herself so much before.

* * *

Humiliated, exhausted, and alone, Merilille continues a longstanding tradition of crying herself to sleep that afternoon.

_(A penance for pride. Pathetic creature with big dreams.)_

As she curls her knees into her chest, she cannot shake the hazy memory of Talaan's eyes, sad and vibrant and too lovely for such a young woman, hovering protectively over her. She falls asleep with a splitting headache and dreams of things she shouldn't.

* * *

"Those Atha'an Miere are simply intolerable," Careane huffs.

_(The Green stirs her porridge like her gossip: vigorously and incessantly.)_

"They had me fill in for you yesterday afternoon, you know. I'd rather not have _that_ honor again."

Looking down at her meager plate, Merilille is torn between apologizing and reaching across the table to slap Careane's plump face into oblivion. She blinks instead. It's been seventy years since she's lost her temper, screaming at the top of her lungs at that stubborn Andoran noblewoman, Maighdin, who refused to take good advice. She sees that lamentable trait reflected in the woman's granddaughter on a daily basis.

"They are a demanding lot."

Careane hums an agreement as she chews, but says nothing else. Merilille blinks again, simultaneously wondering if her unrelenting headache is causing her to lose her appetite or vice versa, and if Elayne has time to Delve her. Perhaps she is growing ill under the strains of her new position. She excuses herself, rising from the breakfast table slowly and creakily like a wagon wheel that's gone too long without grease.

_(Old, fraile woman. They're going to break you at this rate-)_

"Merilille Sedai?"

_(A flinch and clanging of silverware dropped to the floor. She hates herself for jumping.)_

Talaan din Gelyn stands behind her, concerned face following the bouncing fork and spoon as they skitter underfoot. Without preamble she bends to hastily retrieve the fallen silverware, bright yellow pants and magenta blouse flowing behind her. Merilille can barely make out a series of mumbled apologies as the apprentice Windfinder crawls around, but notices a series of fresh stripes _(inflamed like a lover's lips)_ across her shoulders. At the Tower a girl would be Healed immediately after a punishment that severe.

"Forgive me, Aes Sedai," her voice shakes. She glances fearfully at Careane, who nosily watches the whole exchange, before gingerly resting the fork and spoon on Merilille's tray like she's laying a babe in a crib. Her calloused hands hold the edges of the tray, imploring the Gray to release her grip, as if she needs the menial burden to make up for her transgressions.

_(Powerful, gentle, and effortlessly beautiful. A force of nature.)_

"May I hold your tray, Merilille Sedai? I never meant to sneak-" 

_(A razor-thin thought snaps a chanted rejoinder- too young too young too young. A child.) _

"Walk with me, Talaan."

If Merilille is being perfectly honest with herself _(she isn't)_, she recognizes something more than admiration in Talaan's probing brown eyes. It is dangerous and desperate and beyond flattering, but she cannot accept it. _(She's only a child, her student. But the apology before the broken shield had meant so much to her. That someone so incredible cared...)_

She ignores her inner monologue as they walk side by side through the balmy kitchen, feeling suddenly exhausted and frightened that Talaan will summon her back to Renaile and the others. She would not survive another day like yesterday. How a girl the age of a newfound novice could so thoroughly truss her was beyond Merilille's level of comprehension. If it was anyone else it would be borderline insulting.

"How old are you, Talaan?"

The questions slips away before she can contain it. _How rude I've become lately._

"I will be twenty by winter's end, Merilille Sedai," she answers, sorting the cups and bowls into the appropriate tub of suds. Years of Tower training are the only things stopping Merilille's mouth from dropping into a wide O of surprise.

_She is woman grown, too old to be an Accepted for long._

She covers her shock by asking in a smooth-as-butter voice, "And how old is Metarra?"

"Two months older than I."

Talaan wipes her hands on the damp embroidered towel provided by a bowing serving man; if nothing else, the service in Elayne's palace is superb. "Forgive my hastiness, Merilille Sedai, but I came to ask for your help with certain weaves. I feel I could improve more quickly if I learned the things they teach at the Tower." Her voice softens, "But Renaile wouldn't like it, and the others don't know... they don't know I'm asking."

_Will you be whipped again if they find out, Talaan? _she wants to question, though she's already seen the answer in rows of angry red welts. _Will you pay a terrible price for the knowledge you seek?_

"A private lesson?" she turns, glossy black hair flowing over her shoulder. Talaan beams.

_(She cannot pinpoint why that notion makes her so giddy and so uncomfortable.)_

* * *

It is snowing in the courtyard of Caemlyn's Royal Palace the first time they are truly alone.

Somehow the Gray has the energy to sit upright on the frozen stone bench, ignoring the exhaustion settling deep in her bones from another long day of _educating_ the Windfinders. A thick fur hood droops lower across her forehead. They drive her harder than a pack mule, but only the youngest apprentice shows her respect in any capacity. She'd even grinned at her, pearly white teeth shining, from the back of the room today, looking so pleased by Merilille's display of Fire.

Sitting beneath a carved arch where two dead cherry trees twine in mutual melancholy, she thinks she'll have to return to the Caemlyn gardens when everything is finished and the spring flowers learn to bloom again. Assuming she survives the coming months, of course.

"Do you remember the order of the weaves?" Merilille asks, breath misting before her pink lips.

She knows the answer: Talaan's aptitude for channeling is remarkable _(like nothing she's found in a century until encountering the al'Meara girl in Salidar)_ and she only needs to see a weave once to mimic it perfectly, but she enjoys the sound of the younger woman's voice. Even more, she enjoys watching her weave, effortless and relaxed, smiling below the snowflakes that settle like gemstones in her pulled-back hair.

_(Shouldn't be teaching her the hundred weaves. Shouldn't be alone with her. Shouldn't feel this way.) _

She is beautiful, and it makes Merilille want to cry.

_(Blinded by her brightness.) _

* * *

Talaan is displeased.

_(Something close to rage has pricked at the back of her neck for days- something not even Renaile is brave enough to quell or openly address- something the other Windfinders fear will start like a sore throat before morphing into a lethal, unstoppable disease that infects without exception or mercy.)_

Seeing the Cairheinin's once-dignified spine bend beneath the weight of the Sea Folk's commands _(kindred spirits, both snapped in half)_ breaks her heart like the splintered hull of a storm-battered ship. Watching the smaller woman withdraw into a cracked shell, wide eyes darting fearfully when someone calls her name without the honorific, has Talaan prepared to yank out her earrings and drag her out of Caemlyn, bargain be damned. 

"Yes, Merilille Sedai," she says. "Though I think I held my hands incorrectly when I wove Spirit for that last one. It seemed different than how you showed me."

Each passing moment away from the other Windfinders magnifies her courage. She could stand ten thousand punishments just for a chance to be nearer to Merilille, and she will not miss her opportunity.

She steps closer to the stone bench, bare palms facing upward, catching powdery snow as the channeled dust trails at her feet. _(It is a very complex weave to do something as simple as twist dust into a spire, but she will not question the Aes Sedai's guidance.) _Talaan kneels, offering her numbing hands for expert adjustment, so the Aes Sedai does not have to stand. She wears a soft smile.

"Oh, Talaan. You need gloves until you learn to ignore the cold. You'll freeze otherwise." Merilille murmurs. "Here." She wraps mittened hands _(dark blue like her irises)_ around shivering ones, pressing them together for warmth.

_(The loaded silence stretches.) _

She is entranced by the rise and fall of Merilille's chest as she breathes, a tide ebbing and flowing. The silvery hood shadows her eyes, but she's certain the Gray is watching their hands with a look of unbearable heartache.

Talaan din Gelyn is nineteen years old, and feels like she has never lived a day in her life. She leans forward, rocking her knees against the cobblestones, and presses her lips to Merilille's. _(She cannot bear not knowing.) _When she pulls back from the slow, chaste kiss, her whole body burns.

Then Merillille with the sad, sad eyes releases Talaan's hands from her lap and tugs her lips closer again, too-big mittens pressed to cheeks. The Gray kisses her deeply, sniffling as tears well up heavy and warm, and it feels like resetting a broken bone.

_(The snow falls and she offers no apology this time.)_


End file.
